


the stakes are high, the water's rough, but this love is ours

by youareiron_andyouarestrong



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Class Differences, F/M, Tea Parties, society life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4919824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youareiron_andyouarestrong/pseuds/youareiron_andyouarestrong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Society teas aren't all that social when you're the rebellious newspaper reporter and the wife of a rabble-rousing union leader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the stakes are high, the water's rough, but this love is ours

Katherine wasn’t very fond of the society teas her mother consistently invited her to, but she could only say no a certain number of times before the invitations became more pointed and eventually turned to outright demands. And Katherine has _never_ pretended to be a model daughter, but the least she can do for her mother is show up at her house in a dress and no ink smudges on her fingers, her hair done in a complicated up-do that made Jack wrinkle his nose when he saw it, but he had the sense not to say anything.

So that’s how she ended up at this one, Clara in tow, ready to endure the pointed questions about her career, home life and husband.

“Why am _I_ here?” Clara grumbled as their cab approached the Pulitzer household.  

“Because if you come with me to this one, my mother will tell your mother and you’ll be left alone for a few more months,” Katherine replied as the cab lurched to a halt in front of the grand edifice.

“That isn’t a good enough reason,” Clara replied darkly, but didn’t argue further as they disembarked.

Katherine allowed herself one sigh and absently rubbed her wedding band. In moments of stress, she found herself pressing her fingers to it, taking comfort in the warm metal and remembering the matching one on Jack’s left hand.

She remembered waking up to coffee already made, a kiss pressed to her hair as she sat down to write, sketches of her face tucked in among the drafts of her stories. Small gestures, little moments that reminded her: she made the right choice. And would’ve made it over and over.

* * *

Katherine’s mother greeted her daughter and Clara warmly, as the other society ladies raised cool eyebrows and exchanged significant glances at the wayward Pulitzer and Wyman heiresses. They settled down for tea and a light meal, though Katherine glanced at the elegant porcelain teapot and cups and wished for the sturdy coffeepot and mugs she and Jack used. Tea didn’t do anything for her and she knew Clara missed the cold sweet tea of her home with an ache. Sighing inwardly, she accepted the delicate platter of cucumber sandwiches and petit fours.

“Well Katherine,” said Agnes Stratford, an old finishing schoolmate with over-brightness, “how is your…job? At the… _Sun_ , isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s at the _Sun_ ,” Katherine confirmed, now reaching for the scones with clotted cream. If she was going to do this now, she needed substance.

“What is it you write for them?” asked another old acquaintance, Lillian Hargrove with a gleam in her eyes. Lillian and Katherine had been enemies ever since their days at finishing school, when a memorable incident involving the French professor and a goat went awry. “Entertainment, wasn’t it? For _vaudeville_ shows?” Her tone implied scarlet women and liquor; scandalous goings-on not fit for the ears of ladies.

 “Not so much anymore,” Katherine said coolly. “I do more current event pieces, some politics. I do a lot of writing for the unions too.”

At the fateful word _unions_ , glances were exchanged around the table. Katherine concentrated solely on spreading clotted cream and butter on a scone in exactly even proportions as Mariah Wentworth prodded, “No doubt due to your husband’s influence.”

“That’s certainly part of it,” Katherine agreed, carefully slathering on more cream. She deliberately took a decided bite out of it as Lillian remarked, “I can’t imagine what any of them would have to say to you, these working class men. None of it _proper_ , surely.”

“You’d have to go down to the docks,” said Mariah, shuddering delicately. “It’s certainly not safe.”

Katherine washed down her scone with a swallow of tea. That was one thing she missed about her childhood home, the scones and the cream. Maybe she’d get the recipe for it later. “It’s no safer anything else is,” she said, feeling the warmth of the tea in her middle. “But I feel it’s important to talk to those men, let their stories be heard.”

Murmurs of polite disbelief filled the table and Katherine without thinking, reached for more tea. Her fingers made contact with the hot teapot and she drew it back hissing furiously, “Damn it to _hell!_ ”

An appalled silence settled over the table and Katherine clenched her teeth the point of hurt. “Sorry,” she ground out and pressed her hand against her lap uselessly, feeling her jaw ache with the pressure.

“Another example of your husband’s influence, I suppose,” sniffed Mariah. “Really Katherine, who would’ve thought you preferred a _newsboy?”_

“He’s a political cartoonist for the _World_ too,” Katherine snapped, feeling her temper rise. They could say whatever they wanted about _her_ , but God help them all if they started in on Jack.  “If he’s good enough for my father to hire, he should be good enough for you.”

“Really, Katherine,” soothed Agnes. “Surely he must have his good points, but isn’t he rather…well, isn’t he sometimes…can’t he…”

Katherine pressed her hand against the cool wood of her chair, trying to parse what, exactly, Jack was, because they could go on all _day_ doing that, when Mariah interrupted Agnes’s stuttering with, “Can’t he be rather _rough_ sometimes?”

_Have you_ met _Jack?_ Katherine almost asked, before remembering, no they hadn’t. They didn’t know how he wrapped Crutchie’s bad leg in bandages, took Romeo’s face between his hands to calm him down, wrapped an arm around David’s shoulders to reassure him. They’d never seen his sketches of the stray cats he kept fed in the alley behind their apartment or the canvases upon canvases of sunsets and desert landscapes stacked up against their wall, or the portraits he’d done of her, clothed and _un_ clothed, her hair spread out across the pillows of their bed.  

“Perhaps that’s why Katherine married him,” murmured Lillian into her tea cup. “She _prefers_ it that way.”

Agnes turned scarlet and Mariah said reprovingly, _“Really,_ Lillian.”

A memory bloomed in Katherine’s mind, of the last time she and Jack went out with the boys, they each had a few shots of whiskey and stumbled back to their apartment, their blood warm and racing. Of falling helter-skelter into their bed, clothes scattered across the floor, Jack underneath her begging for _faster, harder,_ and _oh God Ace please._ Him flipping them over and kissing her between her legs until she screamed. Jack _loved_ doing that to her; they’d spent a whole _day_ like that during their honeymoon, his face buried between her thighs for hours until her legs couldn’t support her anymore. He touched her like he could never get enough, like he couldn’t believe he was able to touch her at all.  He kissed her hands and her knees and the secret places of her like a man lighting candles at Mass.

“No,” Katherine said softly, pressing her thumb to her wedding ring. “He really isn’t.”

* * *

“Was there nearly a hen fight over at your table?” Clara wanted to know as they were _finally_ on their way home. “You looked ready to spit a few times.”

Katherine shrugged, rolling her neck to work out the kinks. “They were making remarks about Jack.”

“And you didn’t tear someone’s eyes out?” Clara said dryly, peeling off her gloves and crumpling them into a careless ball.

“Please,” Katherine snorted, resting against her seat. “Give me _some_ credit.” She rolled her shoulders too and added in a mutter, “Like Jack didn’t teach me how to throw a punch.”

Clara laughed outright at this and the cab rolled to a halt in front of Katherine’s apartment building. “Go on,” she said through her laughter, “go home to your husband.”

Katherine pretended to put her nose in the air. “I _will_ , thank you.”

Still laughing, Clara waved good-bye as Katherine went in their building. Smiling a little to herself, she let herself to be greeted with a chorus of hellos from her husband and the rest of the newsies.

“We saved ya a beer,” said Racetrack, waving a bottle at her. “Thought you might need it after the day you’ve had.”

“Thank you Race,” Katherine laughed, accepting the bottle from him and going to sit with Jack, who forewent the formalities and simply pulled her down into his lap. Katherine sank down into him, letting her head go back with a contented sigh as Jack already started pulling the pins out of her hair.

“Was it that bad?” he murmured into ear, setting the pins into a neat pile on the table.

“No worse than usual,” she assured him quietly. “Just tired, is all.”

He hummed into the back of her neck, pressing his lips there and she felt him smile against her skin.

“You two are nauseatin’,” Race remarked and Jack and Katherine chorused, “Shut up Race,” as the rest of the table laughed.

Katherine smiled herself, knowing she’d really come home now.

**_—fin—_**      

 

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted on my tumblr


End file.
